Letters I'll Never Send

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I’ve been in love so many times already. I’ve been in love with a classmate, with a camp buddy, with a group partner, with the most popular guy in school, with a fictional character, with a fucking celebrity, with a domineering misogynist, with a guy who turned out to be gay. But nothing was quite as painful as falling in love with my bestfriend.

It’s the constant denial, it’s the endless back and forth, it’s falling in love all over again every time we get too close — shattering everything I’ve worked so hard for to protect myself from this mistake. Stone iron walls I’ve built to keep myself from wanting more than you could give me fell down like dominoes. Self-made promises are thrown aside everytime you call me, on the phone or from my dorm window. “This the last time! And he’s my bestfriend anyway!” is a phrase I’ve told myself everyday, I could nearly believe it as the truth.

But it has become too painful.

I’m the one who would walk with you around campus even if I fucking hate walking under the sun.

I’m the one who you would suddenly pick up at the dorm just because you want to eat dinner and grab a drink at Sarah’s.

I’m the one who was and who is there for you in your lowest moments, crying for what you lost over and over again, wishing I could take onto my shoulders all the pain that you’re feeling.

But when all is said and done, when I rearrange the passenger seat of your car for her legroom like she left it, when I have to walk ahead of you when she comes into view, when I have to leave OUR hang-out place because I can’t stand her presence, that’s when I know that I will be nothing more than your bestfriend.

And that’s why I walked fast, fast, fast away from you, away from you and her today.

This is why I’m letting our friendship go tonight. This is why I’m letting you go. I will continue pushing you away until I don’t mind it anymore. Until it’s a reflex. Until it doesn’t hurt anymore.
I’m going to give you back your t-shirt, even if it’s about the only piece of clothing that’s neatly folded in my closet.

Next week, I won’t be rubbing my feet at night anymore from walking around campus with you. I won’t have new photos of our awkward selfies in my photo gallery. I won’t be hearing about your little sister who fractured her wrist and how much you’re worried about her discomfort. I won’t be drinking till morning with you, reveling in the warmth from our arms touching.

I won’t be answering on the first ring, I won’t be there for you anymore.

I’m letting go of all these illusions and hopes, those “signs” that weren’t really there, those years you think are “sayang,” that chemistry and tension felt by everyone but never you, only me.
Three years is too long to be in love back and forth, on and off, to be in love alone.

It’s about time that I walk away, and I can’t turn back. I won’t risk falling in love with you again. And even if walking away means losing our friendship, it’s a risk that I’ll just have to take, it’s a step I can’t take back.